Canadian Hate
by riolusaura
Summary: They ignored him, and he hates them for it...He'll always be alone, or thats what he thinks. Sometimes you just need to look in the magic mirror.


_Lonelyness._ Thats all he's felt for the most part of his life. He sees what others don't. He sees everyone, but they don't see him.

He sees England, once again drinking himself to death, and he hates him for it. He sees France, handing the Brit yet another set of drinks, set on getting him drunk enough to...as he says..._have fun with_. He hates him too. He hears before he sees his brother, once again speaking to Japan, who was trying to get away. Of course his bother doesn't notice, that or he doesn't care.

He hates them all, all three of them. They all helped raise him. France and England were like his parents, and America was his brother, always there for him. Or thats what he thought. He thought that when they waved him off after he told them something exciting, like when he finally learned to speak english, England would just look over blankly and smile saying a small 'good job' then continuing his work.

Canada thought this was how he showed his appreciation and love. But when he saw how his smile grew, and it seemed like the whole world was right, he learned that it was never directed at him. No, it was towards his brother. His_ twin_.

France was the same. Everyone mistook him for America, and it bothered him. He thought that the one who raised him first would at least tell the differance, however when he entered, he was greeting with a slightly cold stare. "Bo-bonjour papa?" he tried, smiling sweetly at him.

However France's glare didn't fade much. "Oh, so you learned French now, oui? I guess you've finally seen how ignorant you are, America." and left it at that. Canada's fist tightened at the memory, and he stood up. He couldn't take it anymore, the pain, the misery, just the whole thing.

The next day he watches them. England is, unsurprisingly, very grumpy and has a sore back. France is grinning widely, while America is still speaking to Japan while also having a tense conversation with Russia.

He feels the anger and rage boil up inside of him. He wants to shout, to scream, to kick and punch and do whatever he can to cause as much pain to them as possible. He wants them to suffer as much as he has. He wants them all to understand, to see.

He stands up, ready to leave. Nobody'll care, no one will see. He'll leave silently and invisable to everyone, like always, and they won't even notice. No one will. But no matter how much he says he hates being around them, in the deepest part of his heart one thing rings.

_Please see me._

He begs it over and over silently. Hes done everything he can, yet to no avail. Turning, he starts to walk out of the room, opening the door loudly and going slowly. He turns to give them another look, then shuts his eyes at the sight.

_Why don't you see me?_

He screams before he can stop it from coming out of his mouth. He feels...relieved, _free_. Opening his eyes, he expects to see at least someone looking at him.

_Nothing._

Tears prick his eyes as he runs out of the meeting room, and keeps running.

_Out of the building,_

_away from the street,_

_far away to a place where no one would meet._

He screams and throws himself to the ground. He doesn't understand.

_Am I dead?_

_Do I not exsist?_

_Tell me God, why? WHY?_

He screams to the heavens, begging for something, anything. Just a relief from this hell he lives. He sees two lights, speeding up closer, closer, closer, until the light turns so bright it becomes dark.

He sees nothing now. He feels nothing now. He looks silently, left right, left right, nothing comes into view. Then he sees his past. He sees when he first met France, how he was cradled in his arms, happily, silently, full of joy.

It then shifts to when he was taken by England. He was scared, but England looked at him kindly, smiling at the child. Thats when he met America, he thought he had found a magic mirror at first.

Canada, watching all these old, long forgotten memories did something he hasn't done in a while. He laughed. His smile seemed to brighten up the dark room, and he saw something lurk over him. They were screaming his name, shaking him.

His eyes opened, slowly and full of hope. Over him he sees the magic mirror of himself, gripping his hand and calling out to him. Smiles filled the area. Sirens were heard. A car was crashed nearby.

Canada looked again, silently, left right, left right. England at his left, France at his right. And right in front of him, his own magic mirror, reflect things that he is not, but also things that he is. He is kind, he is quiet and listens well. He sees the magic mirror show him that he isn't brave, he isn't a quick thinker, he _isn't_ alone.

He smiles, being lifted up into the white vehicle, while the three speak and comfort him. They rub his hair, kiss his forehead, and hold his hands, as if he was important to them.

_You are._

He hears the two words, as if his mind was being read. Looking at his brother, whos blue eyes were boaring into his own. He smiled, feeling that joy from those memories flow back in.

_This was how it felt to be noticed._


End file.
